


hands put together, so holy

by young_monster



Category: Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Life Crisis, M/M, Religious Conflict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 14:23:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14046186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/young_monster/pseuds/young_monster
Summary: When something happens and you start to question your life, there's only one place to go.





	hands put together, so holy

**Author's Note:**

> So this blurb happened very late at night when I decided that instead of being a smart person and sleeping, I would stay up way too late and listen to music.  
> Then, Does Everybody in the World Have to Die played, and I started to put a happy spin on all the lyrics, and then this fic happened. It kinda spun a little out of control, and it's kinda all over the place, but I had a fun time writing it. What a great way to ignore my responsibilities.  
> Please enjoy!

It was late. Extremely late; the kind of late where it was almost considered to be extremely early in the morning. The sky was dark, and glittering with thousands of stars. It was the kind of view that would take a person’s breath away no matter what, even if they hated most beautiful things in life. 

However, the twilight’s pulchritude was lost on a young man, who was attempting to hide himself away from it. He couldn’t risk being seen, not by another soul who might be roaming the streets. Most people were asleep, but of course, there were always a few peasants who decided to use the bare streets to catch their slumber before they awoke to a day of begging for scraps. 

There were also the guardsmen to be weary of. Technically, no citizens were supposed to be in the main city at this time of night; the king enforced this policy to keep away common reprobates, but this young man found his own needs to of more import than the law at this moment. 

After a decent amount of silent trudging along the cobblestone streets, and the occasional duck into an alleyway, the young man had reached his destination. He looked up to the tall building, and pursed his lips as he fought away the dread accumulating in his stomach. He hadn’t been to this particular institution - or any like it, for that matter - in quite some time. 

If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t know if he was ready to return, but he couldn't go back now. He had questions, and every person he tried to talk to said that only one person held the answers he sought. And that one person could only be found in a building like this.  

He carefully pushed open the heavy oaken door, and winced as it groaned it’s way across the stone floor. He entered the building, and was immediately struck with how deathly quiet it was. Even the bare streets at night weren’t this silent. He made sure to carefully shut the door behind him; he couldn’t be caught now, not in this building. Lawbreakers weren’t supposed to be in this building; it would only worsen his sentence if he were found. 

The young man carefully walked between the rows of oaken benches, hoping that no one would be awoken from the sounds he was making. His footsteps echoed against the stone floor, harsh in his ears, but then the sound fluttered all the way to the top of the high-reaching ceilings, fading into nothingness. Oh how he wished his problems could follow the same path. 

None of the candles were lit, nor was there any sun to be filtered through the stained windows; if it weren’t for the young man’s eyes already being adjusted to the dark, he wouldn’t be able to see where he was going.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was supposed to be anywhere but here; it almost felt as if he were intruding. Technically yes he was, but this feeling seemed more ethereal than the legality of his intrusion.

He headed to the very first row of benches, and sat down on the edge of the left-most one. The cold wood threatened to seep what little body warmth he had managed to maintain for himself. Even though it was a mild summer night, he couldn’t seem to stay warm. 

He took a deep breath, and reenacted the ritual that his parents had instilled in him when he was just a boy: close your eyes, take a deep breath, clasp your hands, and lean forward with your elbows on your knees. Then speak. 

“I know it’s been a long time,” The young man spoke softly, not wanting to disturb the calm air with his grievances. “But I need help. As a man, as a mortal soul on his knees, I’m begging for your help.” 

The looming figure carved from wood just stood in front of the benches, looking over everything with a disinterested gaze. It didn’t offer him any words, so he closed his eyes once more, and continued. 

“I’ve turned my back on you, I know. But now, I seek help. I’ve fallen for someone I shouldn’t have, and it’s tearing me apart. I don’t know who I am anymore. I thought I knew, but he’s managed to convince me otherwise. I can’t continue my life like this, so I beg of you, send me a sign or anything that I’m doing the wrong thing. Something to turn me to the right path.” 

Again, there was nothing. His words were left to float away to the heavens, where his requests would never be granted. But he wasn’t one to give up so easily. 

“He’s a bad man. But so am I. So was my father. I turned my back on the only thing that could offer me solace, but now, I want to return.” The young man opened his eyes, and looked up towards the wooden figure. “Please, help me.” His voice cracked, signaling the arrival of fresh tears building in the corners of his eyes.

“You look so holy, with your hands put together like that. I almost couldn’t hate it.”   
The young man startled at the voice of someone he knew all too well. He looked to his right, and sure enough, there was the source of all of his grievances, sauntering his way through the pews as if he owned them. 

“Hello, George,” The young man said, staying put where he is. 

“Jorel,” The other man greeted, sitting down next to the young man. “I never thought I’d see you in a place like this.” 

“I never thought I would either, but God has all the answers, right?” Jorel looked to the carved wooden figure of Him, silently judging the both of them. “Right?” 

“You’d rather speak to someone you regard as fictitious than confide in me, your lover?” George asked, brows furrowed in confusion. He seemed genuinely hurt by that fact, and it upset the young man more than his own issues. 

Jorel returned to looking to the heavens, hoping that an answer to all of his problem would appear before him magically. “I don’t know what to do anymore.” 

“About what? What’s wrong? Please, talk to me.” George took the young man’s hands within his, completely enveloping them. 

Jorel hadn’t realized how cold his hands were until they were held by the man beside him. He couldn’t stand to look at him, but he knew that he couldn’t hide any of his turmoils any further. “How can I know that this is real?” 

“What do you mean? Do you mean...us?” 

“Anything. I don’t know who I am anymore,” Jorel admitted. He just wanted to run away from this church, from the man beside him, from all the questions crowding his brain and all the problems threatening to make him collapse. 

“I do.” George got off of the bench in favor of kneeling right in front of the young man, meeting his gaze with determination set in his piercing blue eyes. “I know who you are, Jorel Decker. You are the one who broke fate, you are the one who showed me that there’s more to the world than slaughter and what comes after.” 

Jorel shook his head, dropping his eyes down to the their intertwined hands. “I’m a thief, and my father was a bastard. I’m nothing but a close relative of death, who devours your dreams. In the end, the world is going to bury me alive, and I’ll be nothing more than an afterthought, a memory of worse times.” 

George waited until the young man had finished his spiel, then placed a gentle kiss onto his hands. “What can I do to prove to you that everything you said is wrong?” He placed one more kiss onto his knuckles, then met the young man’s depressed gaze. 

“Does everybody in the world have to die for me to prove to you that my love for you is infinite? I will cut down the entire human race, all the weak, all the wicked, and let their blood rain down for an eternity if it would prove to you that I love you with all of my heart.” George sat back down next to the young man, and wrapped his arm around his waist. 

Jorel looked back to the figure of God staring down at them. “I don’t really think that you should say such things here.” 

George scoffed as he also looked to the holy carving. “I never claimed to be a righteous man. You know what I do for a living; it isn’t the most glamorous. But you also know that I still have a heart, and I have devoted it to you, and only to you.” 

“I love you too,” Jorel said, rubbing his thumb over the other man’s knuckles. “I apologize for doubting you, but I still have nothing. I don’t have any work, or a place to live, or wealth, or anything. It’s all gone.” 

“I can care for you, darling,” George promised, wrapping his arms around the young man’s shoulders in a warm embrace. “You can live with me, and besides, you’re a talented thief. There’s a lot of affluent families who would love for their safes to be emptied of jewels.” 

Jorel gave a sad smile, and let himself melt into the arms of his lover. “It isn’t as simple as that.” 

“No, but we can handle whatever happens next. We’ve been through worse.” George suddenly remembered that they were still in the church, and the possibility of them being caught was only increasing the longer they stayed. He stood up, bringing the younger man up with him. “Come along, darling, we need to get going.” 

Jorel nodded, and looked back to the carving of God. “You go on ahead, it’ll be too difficult to remain hidden with the both of us. I’ll meet you at your cottage in an hour, alright?” 

George pressed a light kiss to the young man’s lips; he still tasted of smoke. “Alright, see you then.” With that, he quietly slinked away into the shadows, off to his nice little cottage on the outskirts of the city. 

Jorel turned back to the holy figure, and felt a sudden need to say something. He cleared his throat, and looked up to the gaze of God. “Thank you, but I don’t think I really require assistance anymore. I have the greatest man in the world by my side, and he’ll never leave me.” 

He left the church through the same way he had entered, but this time, his echoing footsteps weren’t as oppressive. He felt almost liberated now; he had his lover by his side, ready to face the world. He knew the future would arduous, and stressful, but he also knew that his lover was right; together, they could tackle anything that was thrown at them.

He felt foolish for seeking help from an imaginary figure who resides in temple of hypocrisy. He didn’t need celestial aid; all he needed was George. 

And everybody in the world didn’t have to die for him to realize this. 

**Author's Note:**

> In case it wasn't too obvious, George is supposed an assassin or mercenary, whichever you prefer, while Jorel is a thief.   
> If you liked this, please leave a comment or a kudos, they go a long way!


End file.
